


L'appel du vide

by dolphidragon



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gore, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-23 23:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19161580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolphidragon/pseuds/dolphidragon
Summary: The call of the void gets to the best of us, even super secret spies.





	1. Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Some pretty heavy trigger warnings for this chapter:
> 
> \- Blood and gore  
> \- Injuries  
> \- Dark themes  
> \- Self Harm (implicated/subconsciously)  
> \- Angst 
> 
> Let me know if I missed anything please!

“Curt!”

Curt was running, running, running so fast. He saw trees fly by. He couldn’t be running any faster if he tried. “Owen?!” He heard his voice echo between the trees.

“Help! Curt!”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Curt tripped. What the hell? He pushed himself off of the ground and winced. Carefully, he checked his hands. They must have gotten shredded from landing so hard on the ground. It was covered in rocks, after all. 

“Curt!”

Oh shit, right. Curt was startled out of his trance and took off running again. “Owen! Where are you?” There! Just up ahead Curt saw a cabin. That had to be where Owen was! He bolted for the front porch.

“Curt, please!”

Curt whipped his head around. Owen was behind him? He didn’t understand. But he had to find Owen. He turned around and started running in the opposite direction. 

“Why aren’t you helping me?”

What? Owen’s voice morphed into something angry, his British accent getting thicker with each word. He was trying! Did Owen not see that Curt was trying?! “Owen! I’m trying, Owen!”

“You should be helping me! You’re not even trying!” 

“Yes I am, Owen! I can’t find you!” Curt turned around once again and started to run for the cabin. He tripped again and felt blood run down his face. Curt just knows that once he reaches the cabin he’ll find Owen, and all will be good. He sat up and felt his upper lip. His hands were getting sticky from all the blood. He pressed into the ground, willing himself to keep going but the blood on his hands made everything so slick. 

“Goddamnit, Curt! Are you going to help me?!”

_Owen._ Curt tried again. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up. _Go get him._ Curt’s ears perked up when he heard a scream. “Shit, Owen! Where are you?!” He tried to pinpoint where Owen was and settled on running for the cabin again. 

“Curt! Can’t you be useful for once?! Help me!” 

“I’m trying Owen!” Curt kept running after the cabin. _He’s got to be in there. I have to find him. He’s in the cabin, just get to the cabin. Why aren’t you running faster? Just get to the cabin. You have to help him. Go, go, go, go, GO! GO!_ The cabin wasn’t getting any closer. Was he running in place? Curt couldn’t tell. What was going on? He felt his foot catch on something and he tripped again. He fell chin first, directly into a rock the size of his hand. “Fuck!” He reached up and tenderly felt his chin, hissing away when he got a shock of paint throughout his body. He was torn to pieces. Curt cringed as he examined his hands. He suddenly felt nauseous and doubled over, breathing hard. 

“God, Curt! Stop thinking about yourself for once and give me a little help!”

“I can’t find you Owen!” Curt got up and kept running, practically limping, for the cabin. He was almost there! He could see the cabin getting closer! “Owen! Are you-” Shit, what was it with the ground? Why was he tripping every three seconds? He was sure this time he sprained his ankle. _Come on, get up! You have to help him! Stop whining and go! Go faster! Do something for once! Come on, go help him! Fuck, why aren’t you helping him?_

“You could’ve helped me.”

Curt scrambled onto his feet, searching for Owen. His voice had sounded so close. He whipped his head back and forth, scanning around the trees and the porch of the cabin. He walked up closer to the cabin. “Augh, what the fuck?!” Curt had felt a hand pull at his shoulder and turned around. Curt called out, “Owen?”

“You could’ve helped me, Curt.” 

_What in the fresh fuck?!_ Curt stumbled back, and tried his best not to scream. Owen was standing in front of him, a fresh bullet wound dripping blood down into his eyes, down the curves of his nose, down into his mouth. He walked with a limp and was covered in dirt, mud, and leaves. And a lot of blood. Lots and lots of blood. 

“You never think about anyone other than yourself, Curt!” 

Curt felt his face get wet with tears. “I’m sorry, Owen.” 

“Are you? Are you really ‘sorry’, Curt?” Owen dredged forward. His face showed nothing but disgust. Hatred. Curt had never seen Owen look so outraged, so appalled. No, his Owen looked nothing like this. What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he help him? “You’re really sorry, Curt?”

Curt was backing up, nodding violently. Owen took as many steps forward as Curt took back. “I’m sorry.” Curt hiccoughed. He tried to move farther back but his ankle gave out. He wheezed as he had the air knocked out of him. “I’m sorry, Owen. I tried but I couldn’t find you. I tried.”

“I don’t believe you, Curt.” 

Curt wiped his eyes. He watched as Owen crept forward. Curt used the rest of his strength to push himself back, but he had put too much strain on his ankle. He propped himself up on his elbow and tried to drag himself back. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize again but instead got a mouth full of blood. He sputtered and gasped and tried to spit it out. He was wiping dirt from his face when Owen suddenly rushed at him, moving inhumanly fast. 

“This is all your fault!”

“I’m sorry, Owen!”

Owen jerked awake after hearing his name yelled. He looked to his left and saw Curt crying and breathing heavily. Owen reached out to Curt and recoiled when he felt something sticky. He got up and turned on their bedroom light. He squinted and saw his Curt covered in scratches. He walked over to the bed and reached out to Curt again. But, wait, what? Owen looked at his arm. It was covered in scratches. 

“Owen?”

Owen looked up at Curt. “Yes, love? I’m right here. I’m right here.” Owen offered his hand to Curt, and smiled softly when we saw that is was accepted. “Let’s get you all better, yeah love?” Owen spoke softly and led Curt to the bathroom. 

“Hey Owen?”

“Yeah, Curt?”

“I’m sorry.”

Owen sat Curt down on the edge of the tub. Carefully, he reached out. Owen took Curt’s chin into his hands and ever so carefully tipped it up. Owen looked into Curt’s eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. I love you.” 

Curt shakily nodded his head. “I love you too, Owen.” 

Owen nodded his head and searched through the bathroom cupboards to find the first aid kit. “Do you want to talk about it, love?” He shifted his gaze to see Curt shake his head. “That’s quite alright, dear.” Owen snatched some bandages and other things and kneeled down. 

Curt jerked back. “Ouch!”

“What?! Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just, my arm is still a little sore.”

“Oh! Oh my God, love, I’m sorry.” Owen looked at Curt’s forearms and gently dragged his fingertips up and down the lines. 

Curt winced and looked at Owen. He seemed fascinated by the marks that covered Curt’s arms. He could hear Owen humming something but it wasn’t familiar to him. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his left wrist. 

Owen looked up when he heard a loud gasp come from Curt. He lifted up his hand and instead started to spread triple antibiotic ointments over the scratches. “Sorry, love, I wasn’t paying attention. Does the ointment make it feel better? Worse?”

Curt looked up from his arms and instead looked at Owen. “I feel a bit better, yeah. You being here makes me feel better then any medicine though.” Curt felt his face smile a big dumb smile. He could practically hear himself feel better. And, God, what was Owen humming?

Owen chuckled. “Wow, Curt. That’s pretty gay.” 

Curt snorted. And that fucking song again. It was making him nervous, why couldn’t he place the tune? It seemed so simple too. Oh well. 

“There you go, all better, old boy.” Owen got up and absentmindedly started to scratch his arm, pressing his fingernails into his skin and slowly dragging them up and down. Why was his arm so itchy? He continued to scratch, digging into his flesh. Owen grimaced as he felt a jolt of pain stem from his arm. He looked down. Oh yeah, he got all scratched up too. He took some more ointment on the tip of his hands and spread it across his left arm. He reached out to Curt, and led the way back to their bedroom, humming merrily along.


	2. flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two TW:
> 
> \- Period Typical Homophobia  
> \- Self Harm  
> \- Angst

Curt Mega was a lot of things, but above all else he was stubborn. He was also childish, but that’s not what was important right now. “Owen! Babe! Wake up, we don’t want to be late today!”

Owen groaned and tried to swat away his boyfriend. “What do you mean ‘we don’t want to be late today,’ love?” The man sat up in bed and pulled the sheets off of him. It was getting into spring full-fledged, and it was starting to get quite warm. 

“Owen, don’t you remember? We’re going to the field today!” Curt had already been up for at least an hour, getting everything ready.

“Curt, are you forgetting the fact that you have allergies?” He puttered around the room, grabbing clothes and then left in the direction of the bathroom.

“Owen!” Curt followed him, rambling about coffee and breakfast.

“Love, I promise we can go to the field today, but just let me go take a shower, okay?”

Curt nodded and walked away, vaguely noticing that he heard the shower start up. He double checked everything in his bag, then triple checked, and then quadruple checked. He paced around the kitchen, and then tried to sit down and have a cup of coffee. So what, he was excited, sue him. After a disgustingly hard case Special Agent Owen Carvour was given mental leave. Cynthia had ordered Curt to take some time too, to look after Owen. Although the fact that both of them were getting leave made them nervous, Curt was more than happy to oblige, especially when their time was spent at the town house Owen was always bragging about somewhere up in, uh, Cottonswabs? No, that wasn’t it. Oh yeah, Cotswolds. Beautiful fields all around, and Curt would be damned if they didn’t go visit and have a cliché day with a picnic. 

“Alright love, are we gonna go or not?” 

_Love._ Curt’s stomach still got butterflies whenever he heard the nickname. He looked up from his coffee cup and saw his partner in a button up and a pair of slacks. “Uh, Owen, have you looked outside? The sun’s shining really nice and bright today, you’re going to get hot in all those long sleeves.”

Owen’s face flashed an emotion that Curt couldn’t quite place before easing into a relaxed smile. “You know me Curt, I’ve always been one for formal wear.” He walked over to Curt and picked up the bag. “Dear God, Mega, are we spending the next week at the fields?”

Curt walked over and snatched the bag, “I’ll have you know that I worked very hard on packing that bag, thank you very much. It’s a surprise!” 

With that, they began on their journey to go lay in a field somewhere. Really, it’s a lot more fun than it sounds. 

“Oh, Owen, look! There’s some pretty purple flowers up there!” Curt looked behind at the British man to see that he didn’t look all too excited. Curt shrugged and figured that Owen had probably seen enough fields on family vacations to last him a lifetime. Whatever, that didn’t stop Curt from running ahead to set up for the picnic.

“They really are pretty, aren’t they Curt?”

Curt jumped as he heard the man’s voice behind him. “Oh, sweet jesus, Carvour. Give a guy some warning.” Curt kneeled down onto the grass, keeping a fair distance from the flowers, and set out his bag. “Surprise! I prepared a picnic for us.” He looked back at Owen, who only looked mildly interested.

“Oh, that’s great Curt, I bet the food will be lovely,” Owen remarked dully. 

British politeness. _What’s up with him today?_ “Yeah, I worked really hard on it. It’s so nice out here. Really, it’s nice just to spend time with you. I really-”

Whatever Curt was about to say was interrupted by one of the biggest sneezes that either of them had ever heard in his life. 

“I told you.” Owen had the ghost of a smile tracing his face.

“Shove it, Owen. I know I packed some kind of medicine for this.” Curt’s searching was stopped when he heard a rattle. Owen was handing him a bottle of pills.

“I really did tell you, Curt.” Owen was hard to read. He retained his small, faded smile, but his tone carried indifference. 

“Yeah, yeah. How about we dig in?” Curt watched Owen smile, and he laid out the food. They ate happily, enjoying each other's company. Soon, the food was gone and the conversation had dropped into a light silence. It was only in the late afternoon, but Curt felt so sleepy. With a yawn he laid down and patted the spot next to him. “Look at the clouds with me?”

“Of course, Love.”

Curt smiled and soon the only thing he could remember was how nice it smelled, how warm Owen’s body was next to his, and how nice the song Owen was humming was.

When Curt woke up, all he could smell was flowers.

_“I don’t want to set the world on fire.”_

Curt felt his head roll to the side and could just barely feel the tickle of touch along his jaw. He saw black.

_“I just want to start a flame in your heart.”_

Curt gasped and squinted open his eyes as he tried to make sense of why he couldn’t move. He saw black.

_“I’ve lost all ambition, of worldly acclaim. I just want to be the one you love.”_

Curt felt a feather-light touch to his cheekbone. Whoever was in the room with him smelt like flowers. He felt his eyes tear up as he opened them, seeing light and a silhouette. He heard a song that sounded weirdly familiar along with a voice that he had definitely heard before. 

“Oh, what a pleasure it is that you’ve decided to join us, Curt.”

Curt raised his head and tried to block the light from burning into his retinas but realized that his hands were tied behind him, so he resorted to slouching as much as he could. He tried to speak but his mouth was dry and his throat was prickly. Curt was still confused, and now he was starting to get nervous, as he couldn’t place his surroundings. He groaned as his hair was pulled back, forcing him to face upwards. Curt tried to break out of the grab, but the grip on his hair just got tighter. He could practically hear his scalp screaming at him. 

“Curt, if you don’t look at me then I’ll have to make you, and that’s not something we want, no?”

He tried to respond but before he could whoever was holding his hair forced him to shake his head.

“Ah yes, that’s what I thought, love.”

Love? _Love?_ That’s when it hit him. The song, the voice. The mannerisms. He creaked out a weak, “Owen?”

“And we have a winner! Took you quite a long time old chap, but you figured it out.” 

“What did I figure out? Why am I in this chair?” Curt felt his breathing get heavier as he got more and more anxious. “Owen? What’s going on?” 

“Aw Curt," Owen whined, "you were doing so good. What happened?” Owen crouched down to be on eye level with the American. “But, then again, you never were the smart one.” 

Curt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _What?_ He was a spy, he should know what’s going on. Why didn’t he know what was going on? _‘You never were the smart one. You never were the smart one. You never were the smart one.’_ “Did you kidnap me?” In his heart, Curt knew this was true, but Curt couldn’t be scared. This was Owen, his partner. Curt saw a flash and suddenly a picture of Owen and another MI6 agent filled his brain. At least he was his partner before Curt caught him with his tongue jammed down a colleague’s throat. Curt reported the Brit’s frankly disgusting behavior and hadn’t seen him since. 

“Atta boy!” Owen’s expression was prideful, but Curt was still confused.

“Why? Why am I tied up, Owen?” Curt looked at the man that he had worked jobs with. He had trusted Owen, at some point at least, and he couldn’t think of Owen as a bad person, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many times his brain replayed the image of Carvour getting discharged. But this didn’t mean that he wasn’t nervous. It was his fault that Owen’s reputation was ruined, after all. 

“I’m not sure if we’re quite there yet, love.” 

For some reason, Curt’s stomach twisted. Curt knew Owen. As a matter of fact, Curt had been in this exact situation before. But that was before, when they were still a crime-fighting duo. Before Owen ruined it for them. Owen had actually kidnapped him, and if Curt had to put money on it, Owen drugged him too. What the fuck was this? 

“There it is! I love that look. The one they all give once it sinks in.” Owen walked off to Curt’s right and when he returned he was pushing a cart that looked like it should be holding medical instruments. However, instead of needles and surgical masks, the tray was full of knives, pliers, and almost any other device you wouldn’t want anywhere near your body. “Cliché, I know. But things are cliché for a reason, love. They work.” Owen winked and turned his back, organizing the tools and humming along. Curt could be imagining things but he’s certain that he saw a purple vase of daffodils right next to a bone saw. What the hell?

Curt was still processing the information. The wink made his stomach churn. Why the fuck did Owen wink at him? Fucking gross. Memories flashed past his eyes as he compared the man he had been working with for years to the one in front of him currently. He was angry, but his voice didn’t carry the tone. “What do you mean ‘the look they all give,’ Owen?” 

“Ah, come on now, Curt. Don’t you start being dense on me again.” Owen turned around with a small knife in his hands. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve always had quite a liking for the human anatomy. Always was so interested in how it all worked.” He had walked forward and crouched down, and was now twirling the knife in between his fingers. “You could imagine my excitement once I realized that I might be able to figure out for myself how the body worked. I still remember my first interrogation. What a disappointment.” Owen’s face held a sophisticated discontent. It was like he didn’t dare show how displeased he really was. 

Curt didn’t care about Owen’s facial expressions, though. No, at this moment Curt could really only think of one thing: how steady Owen’s hand was. Once a spy, he supposed. 

“Anyways, I still had that burning question. How did the body work? So, I decided to hold my own interrogations.” Owen had stood up from his crouch, and was now leaning against his tool cart. 

“And? It sounds like you’ve been doing this for a while. You still don’t know?” Curt meant for there to be a bit of bite in his voice, and he was disappointed at how tired he sounded. Curt’s voice carried a weird note of sincerity, and he wasn’t really sure why or how. 

Owen laughed in a way that didn’t seem like Owen at all. Of course, Owen obviously had a lot more to him than Curt knew. “Oh no no, Curt. I found that one out ages ago. Today we’re here because you, my dear, ruined my life, and we can’t let you go without some sort of payback.”

Curt’s face paled for a moment, and then he felt anger bubble up in his chest. “You ruined your own life, you fucking lavender boy.” Curt watched as Owen just barely flinched. “Get the fuck away from me. Being gay was bad enough, now you’re gonna murder the CIA’s best agent?” 

“Oh, Curt.” Owen walked forward from his place by his tool cart, still twirling a knife, and placed the blade under Curt’s chin, ever so slightly forcing his eyes up. “Murder is much too nice a term to describe what I’m going to put you through.” Owen’s tone and expression read sympathetic, but the reality of his words weighed on Curt. 

“Come at me, flower fucker.” Curt spit the words at Owen with as much anger as he could. Owen let go of his chin and left to his cart. 

“As you wish.” Owen cleared his throat and began to sing. His voice was clear and his tone was sweet. Curt recognized the tune to be a popular love song.

_“I don’t want to set the world on fire.”_

Curt closed his eyes and he mentally said goodbye to his mother. He was preparing himself for the worst, taking in deep breaths, but all that did was fill his nose with the smell of lavender.

_“I just want to start a flame in your heart.”_

When Curt opened his eyes he noticed a few things. One, the flower smell from before was much more intense. Two, he wasn’t in the same place. He saw Owen, kneeled over a few feet away from him near the flowers. After a quick shock, Curt got to his feet and walked over, not quite sure what was going on. “Owen?” Wasn’t Owen just torturing him? 

_“In my heart I have but one desire.”_

Curt stopped. That was the song in his dream. That was what Owen sang while he was being tortured. He was sure of it, so why did he keep moving forward? He sank down next to Owen, and in the dying light of late afternoon he saw fresh scratches up his partner’s arms. “Oh my God, Owen, are you okay?” Owen barely reacted, instead he continued to scratch at his arms, making the already raw injuries worse.

_“And that one is you, no other will do.”_

Curt backed up and went to his bag, which held a scarf he brought for the walk back. He snatched it and ran back over to Owen. “Okay, Owen, I’m just gonna wrap your arms, okay?” Once again, Owen didn’t react, instead scratching and singing under his breath, staring at the ground. 

_“I’ve lost all admission, of worldly acclaim. I just want to be the one you love.”_

Curt reached out and grabbed Owen’s left hand, stopping him from scratching. His head snapped up and he wiggled out of Curt’s grip while the American was still processing. “Hey, Owen?” Owen held his arm close to his body and backed away. “Are you alright?”

The British man cleared his throat and spoke in a slightly wavering voice. “Uh, yeah, Curt. I’m fine, I woke up and I, uh, saw a wolverine rummaging through your bag so I went to scare him off and he got me pretty bad.” He ignored the tears that marked his face.

“Why were you scratching your scratches? Your fingernails are bloody, you were at it for a while.” Owen’s face changed. It had been sincere enough for Curt to find himself believing the words before he remembered how vigorous Owen’s movements were. How determined he was to continue turning his arm red. Now, Owen’s face was void. 

“Why can’t you ever just leave me alone, Curt?” Owen's tone was much more cold.

Curt was caught off guard. He stammered out a, “What?”

“You never leave me alone, Curt. It’s not your business, okay?” Owen had pulled his sleeves down, and was now staring at Curt, glaring at him.

“Owen, it’s my business when you’re hurting yourself!” Curt started to move forward but stopped when he noticed that Owen took as many steps back as he took forward. 

“This will never be your business, Curt! You’re not my caretaker.” Owen continued his glaring. Curt noticed that Owen wasn’t in his usual pose. When the two of them were arguing, Owen always crossed his arms.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Curt didn’t meet Owen’s glare with harsh eyes. He let his emotions show on his face, opting out of the mask he suspected Owen was using.

“Just leave me the fuck alone, Mega! I don’t need your help, so piss off.” Owen sank to the ground.

Curt walked forward and sat near him, but by no means in the man’s space. “Why?”

Owen was staring at the grass between his legs. It seemed like a year had passed before Owen let out a sob. “I’m sorry, Curt. I’m so sorry, I’m so stupid. I didn’t mean for this to happen, and now you have to deal with it.” He curled up into himself and Curt could hear Owen wince.

Curt slowly moved forward, making sure to give Owen time. He reached out to Owen, offering his hand. Owen flinched away, so Curt inched back and sat there, waiting. After a while, Curt moved over to Owen and rubbed his back, giving Owen yet some more time before he broke the silence. “Here, please let me see your arm.” 

Owen was taking in uneven breaths, but Curt was still concerned about the blood that Owen was bound to have lost. Owen raised his head and let Curt take his arms. “I’m sorry, Curt. You shouldn’t have to take care of me. You shouldn’t have to waste your time like this.”

Curt tore his scarf into two and wrapped each piece of cloth around both arms. Curt put on one of the gentlest voices he could and spoke quietly. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, I’m here.” 

The two of them sat there until Owen’s breathing evened out and he was calm.

Curt stood and offered Owen his hand, who took it with little hesitation. Curt quickly packed up his bag and hand in hand they walked back to the town house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was a lot of fun to write! I'd like to thank Cam for being a great beta, as well as the SAF discord. All of you guys are great. The song in this chapter is "I don't want to set the world on fire" by the Inkspots. It was released in 1941, but I listened to it repeatedly throughout writing this chapter. Check it out, it's a really nice song. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot shorter than my last fic but I've been meaning to write this for a while! Thanks to Cam, my amazing beta who helped me with a lot of this fic and the entire SAF discord, which is where I got this idea. Love all you guys.


End file.
